


Midnight Hour

by Vanemis



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: 1984
Genre: Blood Kink, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Graphic Description, Knifeplay, Necrophilia, Rape/Non-con Elements, nameless victim - Freeform, read the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:53:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26782459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanemis/pseuds/Vanemis
Summary: She's the perfect offering for his Master, and a fun distraction. Alive and dead.This is a graphic rape/non-con fic with heavy necrophiliac themes. Please read the tags before clicking on this.
Relationships: Richard Ramirez/Victim
Kudos: 32





	Midnight Hour

**Author's Note:**

> READ THE TAGS.   
> This is graphic and very dark. Proceed with caution and care for your own mental wellbeing.

The rush was addictive. A constant thrumming in his veins, like liquid fire was burning every nerve ending. His heart was beating just as fast as the first time. Every beat threatened to break his ribs but that never stopped him from doing it, over and over again.

Richard didn’t know the name of the girl beneath him or where she came from, or what she had been doing before he’d broken into her home. She had not been the prize but a treat to reward his efforts was always nice. The money was already in a bag, along with jewellery and expensive-looking nonsense that would fetch a decent price when he could safely off-load it. He’d almost killed her when she’d screamed but now, she couldn’t get a word past the gag between her pink lips.

Any makeup was wiped off for bedtime and her blonde hair was untied and fanned out across the pillow as she twisted from the side to side hoping the restraints would budge. They wouldn’t. He'd tied the cloth so intricately that she’d never slip free no matter how much she yanked and pulled at the headboard. Richie always preferred that kind, the ones with bars or posts so he had room to work. 

Judging by the crucifixes and motifs strewn around the neat apartment, the girl wasn’t using the headboard for fun times. She seemed  strait-laced , a good little church girl either off to university or working some do-gooder's job. 

She was small, not malnourished or bony, but tiny compared to him; with thin, delicate smooth thighs that were forced to part for his hips. They felt soft and plaint beneath his warm palms. She had tried to kick him twice already, and he was certain there would be bruises above his knee in the morning. He didn’t give her more than a grunt. She would be the one screaming soon, not him. 

Her flower-printed pyjamas were already on the floor in a pile. Richie had wrestled her out of them, leaving the blonde in a modest pair of white panties and her night-shirt. The logo on the front was for some charity group she likely once volunteered at. It was so faded he could hardly read it, but beneath she wore nothing else and a grin split across his face as he slowly pushed the fabric over her breasts, exposing the small but pretty mounds. 

Her glare was vicious as he let the fabric bunch up under her arms and stroked along the outside curve of her pale tits with his index fingers. He traced the soft shapes and cupped her tits gently, teasing the pink nipples that had yet to harden. The apartment was warm, she wasn’t cold but she still shivered as he pinched her tits until he forced a groan out of her. Not caused by pain but not pleasure either. She was begging. Begging him to stop and walk away, but that would never happen.

His palms gave one more squeeze and trailed down her sides to her hips. She bucked when he pressed his thumbs to the bones. From the look on her face, she would’ve preferred if he stayed fascinated with her tits rather than the rest of her. He slapped one just to make her squirm and returned to her panties.

As he pulled a knife from his belt, her fright doubled and he was forced to shove a hand against her gag. He loomed over her with a grin, his long hair brushing and tickling her skin, and pressed a kiss to her cheek, kissing lower down to her jaw and neck like he would with a lover. But this was far more intimate than a man and a wife consummating their marriage. He owned the play, he owned her. He got to decide what happened next.

The knife cut through the fabric of her white panties, just enough that he could tear them with his bare hands and enjoy the sound of them ripping apart. He yanked the elastic over the blade and snapped it on both sides, so he could get rid of  every thing in his way. He wasn’t a fan of pulling girl’s underwear to the side. It would either dig into him or render one hand useless as it kept the fabric away. It was better to remove it all, exposing her pink, puffy lips to him.

“Cute cunt,” he praised, tapping the flat side of his knife just above her pussy. The cold startled her but he soon warmed the skin with a caress of his fingertips. 

The knife returned to its sheath behind him. Her pussy was just as soft as the rest of her, invitingly spread as he pushed her thighs further apart so that her lips revealed the tiny hole they hid. She was surprisingly smooth-shaven, not exactly something he expected a good church girl to do, but he liked it this way. His fingers traced the curves gently but eventually, he grew bored of being so nice and shoved two fingers inside her without warning. Her frightened yelp of surprise made him twitch in the confines of his dark jeans.

Her cunt was tight. She took three with a pained groan but like any good girl, she couldn’t help getting wet. In reality, it was a natural response. It was safer for her insides to lubricate to avoid tearing. In his mind, he saw it as submission and arousal. She liked being fingered against her will, his fingers were already growing damp as he pushed them in and out until the tightness gave way.

It wasn’t for her sake that he did it. Fucking a tight hole was one of the best parts but teasing a scared girl was even better. She couldn’t deny the pleasure that came from his thumb rubbing circles over her clit. The tears spilling down her cheeks came from her need to come. Or to get away. He wiped them away with a hush and pulled his fingers out, licking each one clean.

The heady taste made Richard moan. A rumble started in his chest. A low, quiet laugh that grew deeper as he buried his face into her thigh and kissed the tender skin. His teeth dug and left imprints but that wasn’t enough. He broke the skin with a harsh bite and the rich taste of blood spilled onto his tongue, mixing with her wetness still lingering on his taste buds. He hardly heard her pained scream over the ecstasy of tearing a large bite into her leg. Blood ran down to the crevice of her hip.

When he glanced at her, his lips were stained red like he’d messed around in his mother’s makeup bag. It was dark, pretty colour that in the low light appeared almost as black as his eyes and hair. It trickled down his chin and he hastily wiped it off though it stained his teeth too.

Her tears had doubled but there was still hope, still a little light inside her that she held onto. He couldn’t wait to smother it.

Letting her bleeding leg go, he turned his attention to finally unclasping his belt and unzipping his jeans. They were black, like the rest of his clothes, so no one would spot blood on them without a very close look. He pushed his jeans and boxers out of the way and when he pulled his cock out, the girl whimpered and mumbled behind the gag.

“Don’t be scared, it won’t kill you. See?” He teased her folds with the head, never pushing past the tight muscles but rubbing up and down over it like a promise. “You ever been fucked?”

The girl shook her head almost violently, as if he’d accused her of the worst crime imaginable. Glancing around at the Jesus statues, he wasn’t surprised.

“Saving yourself, huh? Good thing I’m here, so you don’t have to keep waiting and waiting. It’s both our lucky days.”

Richie didn’t give her more warning than that. One hand guided himself inside her and the other held onto her hip, pulling her down as he thrusted up. Her groans were drowned out by his own moaning, a surprised gasp escaped him when he finally filled her completely. It would be easy to pound into her pliant body but he rarely got to do this, with no rush for time. He pulled out slowly and pushed back in, building a steady rhythm.

Sitting back, still inside her, he pulled off his jacket and shirt, leaving his upper half completely bare except for the chain that hung around his neck. The metal was warm from his body but when he leaned down to lick at her tits, she yelped at how chilled the chain was. She felt it slid between her breasts and settle on her stomach as his mouth played with her nipples. Something frigid brushed her ribs and as she squirmed to get away, his blade sliced through her skin. Her scream would’ve been ear-piercing without the gag.

“Don’t move too much, girly,” Richie warned, grabbing a handful of her blonde locks and yanking harshly. “I don’t want to ruin my canvas.”

He bit her nipple. Not hard enough to draw blood but enough to remind her who was in charge. When the knife flashed in the light cast by the nearby street lamp, she started mumbling prayers. His cock was still deep inside her, moving in and out with little concentration as he turned his attention to her pale, bare chest. He held the knife carefully and started to create art with it, making the two peaks of the inverted pentagram beneath her small tits. 

The blade sliced into her soft skin smoothly. There was no resistance despite the constant screaming, at least not enough that he had to pause. She was immobile, strapped to the bed and unable to pull up off his cock. Not that it would’ve done much good if she could have. Long red lines adorned her stomach, spilling constantly with blood. It stained her pale skin vibrant red.

“Look how beautiful you are now. You’re almost perfect.” 

Richie kept the blade away from her as he leaned down, pressing his bare chest to hers. She yelped and squirmed, and for a moment he wondered whether she’d bite him if he kissed her lips. Probably. He settled for licking a wide stripe up her slender neck and leaving bruises as he went. Sometimes the skin broke and his aggression was rewarded with the tangy copper taste. 

Sitting back up, he thrust hard and grinned as she whimpered. Her blood stained his skin and with his free hand, he rubbed it across his chest obscenely. Like a good girl getting a cum shot across her tits, he trailed his fingers through the mess she’d left on him and splayed a hand over his pecs. The pentagram had smudged on him, no longer a perfect imprint but a mess like bloody hands had groped him.

He was getting close. Every stab of pain was making her tighter and his cock desperately begged for release. Looking at her pretty, tear-soaked face, he smiled with bloody teeth and raised the knife above her chest. Slamming the blade right in the centre of the pentagram, her instant scream of agony caused her body to lock up and tighten more than before. She wanted to rip the knife out and get away but none of that was happening. He fucked her hard, moaning and panting wetly as she constricted his cock with her tight cunt.

Her teary eyes begged for help but it only aroused him more. He still had time to save her, to put something on the wound and call an ambulance. He let go of the handle and the knife stayed deeply embedded in her chest. Both her legs were pushed up and back as he held her close, pounding her cunt until he felt that peak coming nearer. He watched the light die in her eyes just as he came with a deep, satisfied moan and wrenched the knife out, spurting blood up her tits and onto her lifeless face.

He leaned forward to capture her lips between his, pliant and unable to bite him. She tasted like fresh mint from brushing her teeth, the last thing she’d done before heading to bed and finding Richie looting through her belongings. Her eyes were wide open, fixed on the white ceiling.

Pulling out of her abused, cum-soaked cunt, he shoved his cock back into his boxers and zipped up his jeans, leaving his belt hanging open. She looked perfect like that. He grabbed his discarded jacket and fetched his cigarettes from the inner pocket, quickly lighting one up as part of his post-orgasm ritual. There was no point in rushing away from the scene. She lived alone, far as he could tell, and it was only two in the morning. Richard had plenty of time to clean himself up and climb out the way he came with the stolen goods. 

He wandered around her apartment, flicking on the lights. All the windows had their curtains and blinds drawn. He didn’t fear being caught. He never was. 

Her fridge was filled up with fresh groceries and he picked out some beer to unwind. It wasn’t the good, expensive imported kind but it was better than nothing. The only other thing he had his eye on was her bathroom. He needed a good shower.

Naturally, the good church girl had hot water and decent pressure. He wondered if her good looks and pretty smile, like the ones in the photos scattered around, had helped her win her landlord over. It felt good to duck his head into the hot stream and wash away all the blood and sweat.

He used her lovely orange-scented shampoo on his long hair, and borrowed her fancy little soaps to get rid of all the stubborn red splotches of dried blood. He came out cleaner than most, and smelling rather nice. He didn’t bother to get dressed as he sat down on her plush bed with a towel around his hips.

He glanced back at her corpse and smirked, patting her ankle. 

“It’s for you, you know. I hope you like her,” Richie spoke aloud. Many would think to himself but he sensed things others couldn’t. He sensed his Master, most of all, and the darkness that crept around him like a fog. Others couldn’t see it or hear it, but he could. He always could.

The shower had revigorated him and as he admired the way the blood dried on her perky tits, he realised his cock was hardening again. He clambered up the bed, ignoring the towel that slipped free, and took the restraints off her wrists. She was nothing but dead weight, easily moveable for the time being. He cradled her into his arms, knowing he’d likely need another shower afterwards, and brought her face to his own so he could kiss her again. As he held her with one arm behind her back, his other hand groped her still-warm tits. 

She would be cold and solid soon, but for now he was able to enjoy the remaining warmth of her body. He didn’t mind them cold, though. Arranging her so that her head was placed up on a pillow, he straddled her chest and let his half-hard cock brush her lips. He had to adjust her head so her jaw would stay open, and spit several times onto her tongue directly to slick her mouth.

The tip of his cock brushed her lips and a drop of precum leaked out. He wished she could taste it and thank him for it, but Richie settled for pushing past her cold lips and into a still-slightly warm mouth. Her tongue felt divine but so did pushing deeper and deeper down her throat. The dead had no gag reflex. He rolled his hips against her, letting his balls brush her face as he went as far as he could go.

That’s when he felt it. The darkness lingering at the back of his mind. A darkness that wasn’t his own creation but his nonetheless. Closer to his heart than any living being. His Master. The tendrils of smoke appeared out of the corner of his vision, like hands moving across his eyes to blind him. Instead, it stroked his cheeks, almost like a person but not quite.

“I was wondering when you’d show up. It’s not like you to take so long.”

If anyone were to watch him, they would think he was mad. Talking to himself, leaning back into empty air. He could see, though, the claws dragging across his skin possessively, greedily touching him. He’d given himself over so many times he’d lost count but the brush of smoke on his skin always caused a rupture of shivers and moans.

It pushed him forward, into the dead girl’s open mouth where he couldn’t help but cum down her throat like some cheap whore. His release left him shaking and gasping for air. He hadn’t been that close but the darkness, his Master, forced it out of him like a demand. He was a good, obedient servant.

The claws petted him, made him feel embraced and loved. Nothing could ever compete.

He climbed off the corpse and kissed her cum-stained lips, tasting himself on her with a groan. He showered quickly again, only so he wouldn’t have to back at his place. When he threw his clothes back on, the darkness was lingering by the door. One death wasn’t enough. The night was still young and his blade cried out for more blood, and his Master expected a river of corpses by dawn. Richard was more than happy to oblige.

**Author's Note:**

> If you did enjoy, leave a kudos and a comment! There's not enough content for him out there, which is a shame.


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